


This ain't a dream, you're here with me

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afterlife AU, Fix-it fic, M/M, Time Travel, also major spoilers for infinity war, sam centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-30 09:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam's uniform has vanished. He is now, inexplicably, dressed head to toe in pristine white shorts, and a gaudy yellow and white Hawaiian shirt. His shoes and any other gear are nowhere to be found.“What the fuck,” Sam mutters under his breath. All those years of sitting through his father’s Sunday sermons and his dad never mentioned that Heaven would have a tacky dress code.





	1. When you snap your finger or wink your eye

**Author's Note:**

> So basically fuck a Marvel and fuck a Infinity War. If we're gonna heal, let it be glorious!

_Please No. Not like this_.

That was the last thought Sam Wilson had before his body completely withered into ash.

In retrospect, Sam would’ve liked his last thoughts to not be some aimless request (to who exactly? God? His father? The universe? He didn’t know).

Sam would’ve liked to have said something hero-worthy in his last moments. Something like: “Fight on” or “I gave my all” or “This isn’t over”.

But no. In those last moments, Sam didn’t feel like a hero at all.

He only felt pure, paralyzing panic as he watched his fingers crumble into ash. His hands were closely followed by his legs, his shoulders, then everything else.

Sam had no time for heroic thoughts. His mind could only process one simple fact: he was dying.

Seconds before there was nothing left of him, all Sam Wilson could think was _please no. not like this. don’t let me die alone._

Then everything went black.

_**_

_Where am I?_

This was the first thought Sam Wilson had after waking up with his cheek pressed against the sandy ground.

Sam rubbed his face up and down to ensure that the ground was in fact sand. At that realization, Sam’s heart sank.

He was no longer laid out on the hard Wakandan forest floor. And while Wakanda may not be the best place to be right at this moment, it still sounds a hell of a lot better than where Sam _thinks_ he is.

Sam’s eyes are still closed shut. He doesn’t dare open them for fear of confirming his suspicions. Instead, Sam decides to figure this out slowly, using only his physical senses to avoid a full-blown panic attack.

Sam starts with his hands. They’re currently fisted up in the ground, grasping at the small beads of sand like a lifeline.

 His hands. Sam’s hands…he had hands?

Sam let out a triumphant (and probably a little hysterical) laugh as he began to use his beautiful, not-ashen hands to feel up and down his face.

“This is good. This is progress,” he assures himself under his breath.

Sam flips himself over on his back to continue his assessment. Shoulders? Check. Legs? Check. Toes? All 10 of ‘em.

But the elation Sam feels doesn’t last for long because having his body back after it literally faded into a million pieces means there are only two possible explanations here: 1. Sam owes Shuri a huge thank you or 2. Sam is indeed dead.

And the only way to fully confirm if he is in Wakanda’s med bay or at Heaven’s Gates is to open his eyes.

Sam takes one huge breath.

He opens his eyes to a bright blue sky and a large, churning ocean. He turns his head around and sees he’s on a lone island that is so breathtakingly beautiful, it’s almost… heaven-like.

There is no other land in sight.

Sam inhales again but it feels useless. His lungs feel like they’re about to burst as if the air here is too clean, too pure, too sharp.

“I don’t even know where _here_ is” he wants to think, but deep down he knows where he is. Where he must be.

Water suddenly comes rushing up from beneath him on the shore, making Sam jump as it splashes his bare toes.

Wait. Why is he barefoot?

At that question, Sam’s head drops to look down at himself. His uniform has vanished. Sam is now, inexplicably, dressed head to toe in pristine white shorts, and a gaudy yellow and white Hawaiian shirt. His shoes and any other gear are nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck,” Sam mutters under his breath. All those years of sitting through his father’s Sunday sermons and his dad never mentioned that Heaven would have a tacky dress code.

With his hands still on his stomach, Sam begins to examine himself for injuries. The bullet wound in his left side is completely gone. His right arm is no longer bruised. No longer does his head throb or his heart pound. His veins are no longer pulsing with the familiar adrenaline of battle. He feels fine.

Scratch that.

He feels angry.

Sam forcefully pulls himself up to his feet and throws his arms up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yells out to the sea. “This is what I get for helping out Steve? A Hawaiian shirt and a sandy ass?”

The sea expectedly doesn’t answer him. It simply _whooshes_ , sending another wave out to meet the island’s shore. Sam huffs out a sigh and moves to yell some more but is interrupted by a voice that makes him jump.

“If it makes you feel any better, I got one too. The shirt, I mean. Not the sandy ass,” says a low voice that Sam knows all too well. Hearing it only makes Sam’s heart sink even further into his chest. Sam’s not the only one who didn’t make it.

Sam slowly turns around to get a good look at Bucky.

Bucky nods at Sam in greeting, looking ridiculous in a pink and white Hawaiian shirt with a tacky flower pattern just like Sam’s. His hair blows softly in the sea-salt wind, making him look like he’s in an organic shampoo commercial. His strange get-up is accompanied by a smirk.

“You too, huh?” Sam asks, crossing his arms tightly. His voice is barely audible over the waves.

 “Maybe when we get back, we can bring Stevie a shirt. I wouldn’t want him to feel left out of this whole matching thing we got going on,” Bucky says, completely ignoring Sam’s question.  His eyes crinkle to match his smile and the sight only makes Sam annoyed all over again.

 “How are you joking around right now, Barnes? We are dead! D-E-A-D. DEAD. That doesn’t upset you in any way?” Sam yells, taking a few steps closer to Bucky.

“How do you _know_ we’re dead? This sure doesn’t feel like Hell to me,” Bucky responds, looking nonchalantly up at the sky. The asshole.

“ _I_ assumed it was Heaven. I do understand that your sinful ass making it to God’s Holy Gates is a surprise to all of us, but alas, here you are! Congratulations on making the cut!”

“Alright, alright! Even if it is heaven - _which it’s not_ \- what’s so bad about that? It’s not like the real world has a lot of good things waiting for us right now,” Barnes says, putting little more heat into his words. His lips go from a playful smirk to an annoyed slant, which Sam recognizes as his “At any moment I could laugh or stab you” face. Sam’s seen it quite a few times. It’s very confusing.

Sam responds by pushing Bucky away from him and moves to walk further up the beach. Maybe there will be a sign somewhere declaring what Sam already knows is true and Bucky can finally shut the hell up and let him mope.

“I’d say that leaving my friends to face that purple thumb alone is definitely bad. And I still have family out there. Sarah. Jody. Riley’s folks,” Sam says, his voice getting weaker with each name. “But now it’s over. Now I’m on this fucking heaven-beach with you.”

Flashes of Jody’s sweet toothy smile and Sarah’s loud laugh flood through his mind and Sam tries to swallow them all and focus on simply talking to Bucky before getting overwhelmed.

Bucky just sighs and gets a funny look on his face. Sam’s confused for only a second before he realizes.  
He’s an idiot. Talking about all the people he loves in front of Bucky who has no family to think about at all. Bucky’s dismissive words earlier now make a hell of a lot more sense and Sam feels awful.

“Bucky, wait, I didn’t mean it like that-”

Bucky quickly shushes Sam before grabbing his shoulder. The sad look on Bucky’s face disappears. A casual one appears to mask it instead.

“Samuel Thomas, I’m telling you, I would know if we were dead. This,” Bucky says, motioning to the island around them as if that explains it all.  “This is not death. Now come on, Fury and Hill are making a bonfire.”

Okay, now Sam’s even more lost. Hill and Fury weren’t anywhere near Wakanda during the battle? How are they here?

Bucky smiles at Sam’s confusion. “That’s right. Hill and Fury. And T’Challa. Spider Baby, too.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. This makes no sense.

“Anybody else you forgot to mention?” Sam asks in a voice he knows is much too shaky to come off as angry. 

“A group of alien hippies that Thor apparently knows. Thor’s girlfriend. Thor’s boyfriend. Thor’s brother is also here. If you ask me, the man’s bad luck.”

Sam ignores Bucky’s joke, which is new. Most of the time Sam’s the one initiating the humor, trying to get Bucky in a better mood, but right now he can’t play along. His heart is breaking.

Bucky obviously sees Sam’s disarray, because he quickly sobers up. Bucky holds out his hand. Sam takes it without thinking.

“This way,” Bucky says, as he gently guides Sam towards the other side of the island. Sam follows and tries to keep his eyes focused on the footprints their feet leave in the damp sand.

**

Being fake dead had its perks. Apparently, Heaven had a stocked bar because when Bucky brought Sam to meet everyone, nobody was standing without a drink in hand. Well, everyone except a tree he’d been introduced to as Groot and the Spiderbaby. Sam was pretty sure underage drinking was a double sin if you did it in Heaven. His father’s preaching taught him that much. (If this place even was Heaven. The more he stared at the Tree Teenager, the more he doubted that. Trees didn’t go to Heaven, did they?).

“Wilson, take a load off, have a seat. You’re just in time for the barbeque,” Nick Fury says gleefully to Sam as he motions to the plate of ribs he’s holding.

Sam can only laugh in shock. He’s never seen Nick Fury smile before. What’s more, he’s never seen Nick Fury wear anything that wasn’t black or leather. Getting Nick Fury to smile without a care in the world while wearing a flashy red Hawaiian shirt was probably a sight no other man would ever know and Sam feels honored to have been apart of it.

Bucky nudges his shoulder to get Sam’s attention off Fury being an embarrassing dad figure. Sam is met with the face of Maria Hill.

“Wilson. Good to see you,” she says.

“Is it?” Sam replies.

Maria considers their surroundings for a minute before answering.

“That’s still TBD," she admits. "Here's what we know: Some of us were in Wakanda, some of us in outer space, some of us in New York, all doing different things before Thor hit Thanos and now…we’re here. Barnes tells me you were in Wakanda as well, correct? What happened before you...you know.”

Sam would laugh at Hill's loss of words but then again he also isn't sure what exactly to call it. Death? Vanishing Act? Magic Trick?

“I remember I was in a part of the Wakandan forest. My legs and hands began to disappear. I fell to the ground. Before you know it, I was gone. And here we are.”

Sam skips over the dying alone part. He’d rather not rehash that fear come true.

Hill nods, but Sam can tell it's not what she wanted to hear. Her forehead crinkles in frustration. Sam notices the dirt on her clothes as well. 

“I assume you guys have already made a few attempts to get out of here?" Sam asks. 

"Fury and I were here first. We tried to signal for help but all our tech is gone. We tried to build a raft. It kept falling apart the moment it hit the water. We tried to start an S.O.S. fire. It kept going out, no matter what we did," Hill says, despair creeping into her voice. 

"So based on those wonderful experiences, I assume this island is no regular island. Thanos must've sent us here when we "died"," she finishes, with her hands up in the air doing air quotes. 

"So...we're trapped?"

"Yes for the mo-"

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky cuts in, sliding past Hill to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. 

At that moment, Fury bursts into song as he flips a piece of meat over the fire. “ _Sugar pie, honey bunch. You know that I love you!”_

“Yeah, once Fury comes back from his vacation,” Hill says, her eyes now hilariously rolling at Fury’s attitude before she walks away.

Bucky meets Sam’s eyes and they both burst into laughter. Sam has never been so grateful for Nick Fury-he really needed that laugh.

Catching his breath, Sam moves his head to take in the crowd. The “alien hippies” Bucky had mentioned were gathered by the fire. Two of them in particular had their heads bowed against each other, seemingly uninterested in the rest of their group. The remaining members were sitting with Thor’s party, all listening to T’Challa tell some embarrassing story about Agent Ross. Sam wasn’t surprised at the rapt attention they were giving him. There was something about T’Challa’s presence that just demanded to be noticed.

This leaves Peter Parker, who was currently being ordered around by Fury. Peter was clearly overwhelmed with this task if the distress on his face was anything to go by. Sam almost chuckles. The kid’s a genius-superhero who almost took Sam out, yet he can’t handle putting a little seasoning on meat.

It seemed everyone was all smiles, enjoying a welcome break from battle. Sam suspects there’s more to it though. Maybe laughing a little too hard and drinking a little too much to make up for the panic and confusion of their situation.

“Weird, right?” Bucky asks suddenly, pulling Sam from his thoughts. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with Sam now.

“Yeah, I’d say weird is a good way to sum it up.”

“By tomorrow morning, the real panic will set in. Right now, everyone’s just glad they’re not dead.”

“And how do you know for sure we aren’t dead? You still haven’t explained your great and prosperous death-instincts.”

“You said it yourself, Wilson. If we were dead, I definitely wouldn’t have made it up here with the rest of you guys.”  
“Barnes, you know I was just joking right? I didn’t mean that. Besides, who knows, maybe there isn’t a Heaven or Hell. Maybe this is Purgatory.”  
“Damn good Purgatory…”

“Steve must be worried sick."

“Stevie will be upset at first. Hell, he probably thinks we’re all dead. He’ll be devastated. But we’ll get back to him. Now come on Sammy, get you a drink. All we can do is try again tomorrow.”

Sam almost gasped. He had never seen Bucky so calm. So at ease, despite the world seemingly ending and them being trapped in some pseudo-Heaven no one knows how to get out of. Yet here he was, sprawled out on the beach, beer in hand, beckoning Sam to sit right next to him to face the ocean.

Sam gives in and sits down. There’s always tomorrow.

Bucky hands him a beer, seemingly summoning it out of nowhere. Sam should be more shocked at this but he finds he doesn’t care to know the hows or whys. For now, he simply just wants to _be_.

They watch the sunset in silence, the sky going from a baby blue to saturated orange, ending on a dark indigo.

Sam’s body seems to have caught up with his tired mind. He’s exhausted. His bones feel heavy and his eyelids keep falling. Before he knows it, he’s leaning far too much into Bucky’s side but he can’t find it in himself to care. His eyes finally stay closed and he falls asleep to the sound of soft laughter behind him.

 


	2. The ride with you was worth the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seeing the future Falcon and Winter Soldier at his Junior Prom might fuck up something. Aren’t there morals and timelines to this shit?”
> 
> “Yeah, like in that one movie with the Marty guy.”
> 
> “…You’ve seen Back to the Future?”
> 
> “Yes. It’s Shuri’s favorite movie.”
> 
> Sam rolls his eyes and tries to ignore how adorable it is that he knows that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. It's fuck a infinity war hours ladies.  
> I feel like I should also say that the whole time I wrote this, I was listening to 80s slow jams and I highly recommend it as a reader. It just enhances the whole thing and also who doesn't love 80s music anyways?  
> Also in this chapter when it says Sammy, it's referring to the younger, teenaged Sam. Enjoy!
> 
> (Warning for gay angst and a character death is described. If I need to add any more warnings lmk)

Sam wakes up and the first thing he hears is the thumping of music.

He knows this song.

 _What have you done for me lately?_ echoes throughout the whole room. But an open island shouldn’t allow for echoes…or the bumping of old 80s jams.

Next, Sam hears laughter. But it’s not the hearty, alcohol-tinged laughter of everyone from the beach. It sounds a lot more like juvenile giggling.

Sam opens his eyes and is met with the image of his high school gym, filled to the brim with teenagers at what he suspects is his Junior Prom-so, yeah, Sam’s definitely still dreaming. That magical beer Bucky gave him must’ve really taken it out of him because Sam usually pushes his high school days as far from his mind as possible.

He’d rather not reflect on that painfully confusing time. Sam was so lost back then -not that’s he’s completely all together now, mind you. But back then, in his little teenager brain, he felt hopeless.

Most people also say they hated high school, but they only accredit it to the bad hair, awkward dating and conflated drama of their youth. Sam thinks he wouldn’t want to reminisce on those things either, but he’s always been primarily wary of remembering the time in his life in which he was struggling to put on a strong face for his family after his father’s death which subsequently made him question everything his father had ever told him about God. Not to mention busting his ass at two jobs to help his mother pay bills all while simultaneously juggling his internal gay crisis.

Sam can hear his momma in his ear right now though.

_Sammy, you’re a hard one to read. Harder to read than a book written backward, frontward, and upside down, I tell you!_

Sam’s pretty sure if he ever let her know what was going on in his head during high school, she would’ve been quite concerned. That’s why he never told her. At least he never told her till much later in life, and that still was only a handful of things.

Why his mind would choose to dream about one of the worst times of his life (Besides Riley, his mind sharply reminds him and of course-he wouldn’t ever be able to block that out, no matter how hard he tried) at this already trying time, he doesn’t know.

 One booming voice sounds off in the gym and drowns out all Sam’s thoughts.

“Wells High School, are you ready to get dowwwn?”

The DJ at the turntables near the front of the gym raises his arms in the air, encouraging the students to applaud. As he does so, he accidentally hits the mic, causing screeching feedback to echo across the room. The crowd groans at his clumsiness. A few chaperones pity clap.

And though this Dream-Flashback happened decades ago, Sam remembers exactly why. This DJ was Devon Palmer’s stand-in, Ricky Nelson. Devon, known class clown, pulled a prank so bad (involving condoms, some super glue, and Principle Jones’ car) the week before that the administration banned him from attending prom and took away his DJ duties. That left his friend Ricky to take his place. And Sam remembered Ricky very well. How could he forget the one white boy at his almost entirely black school, who tried, so painstakingly hard, to be black himself? You don’t forget a boy like that.

“Y’all come on, I wanna hear you SCREAM! Get yo’ hands up for this one! I know y’all know it!” Ricky screamed in his blaccent before hitting some buttons and queuing up Ice Ice Baby.

Sam knows exactly what happens next too. The crowd boos. Ricky gets ushered off stage. Tanya Thompson takes over and plays some normal shit that everybody can vibe with- Michael, Whitney, New Edition.

As expected, Sam’s dream follows suit.

All these sweaty teenagers are stumbling around each other, some taking the grinding way too far and some too afraid to breathe as they slow dance. It’s awkward and sweet. Life was still hard but at least it was so much simpler back then. Back before war, and wings, and super-serum soldiers knocking on his door and aliens with world-destroying fruity pebble rocks.

Sam is grateful for the easy pointlessness that is this dream. The moment he wakes up, he’s going to be faced with so many more worries, he’s glad that right now all he has to do is listen to corny slow jams play as his ex-classmates fumble around each other. Sam has dreamt much worse. Sam has _seen_ much worse.

The only thing throwing Sam off about all this is how vivid this dream is. Sam smells the cigarette smoke and hairspray in the air, can almost taste the sweet-bitter combination on his tongue. He can see the faded mural of Ida B. Wells on the wall so clearly that it almost seems to be a matching image of the last time Sam saw it.

Sam starts to dismiss this as another side effect of that shady beer – Damn it, Barnes really will eat or drink _anything_ \- before he sees something that knocks the wind out of him.

He sees himself. He sees his whole entire, skinny-ass teenage self, sitting on the bleachers making mooneyes at his then best friend – Bobby Bolden. Bobby also looks like he jumped straight out of Sam’s Junior yearbook, with his big brown eyes and pristine flat top that used to send Sam’s ass swooning.

Sam has never dreamed of himself before, especially not his younger self, and especially not from a completely different point of view, as if the Sam over there is separate from the Sam right here. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say that’s fine, always a first time for everything. Except the last few years of his life have taught him that if anything even seems _slightly_ suspect, it usually is.

Sam begins to pinch himself, trying his hardest to snap out of it and ensure that this really is a dream. He feels the sharp pain in his arm, yet nothing happens. He continues to do this for several minutes, staring at his arm, willing it to feel nothing and confirm this is a dream.

Sam realizes two horrifying things instead:

  1. Sam is dressed up in [baggy, green waist-high dress pants and a matching loose green jacket](http://myhistoryfix.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/1980s.jpg). It’s the tackiest get-up he’s ever seen and _he’s_ wearing it. That already doesn’t add up.
  2. Sam’s pinching himself so hard he thinks he’ll bruise but he’s still not waking up.



Sam inhales sharply and feels the panic rise in his chest. He doesn’t do good with feeling trapped. Too many times he’s been trapped and thought that would be it for him, so this is really not fucking helping.

Sam turns on his heels to go God knows where-just anywhere but this stuffy gym that seems to be getting smaller and smaller by the second- when he collides with another person.

Apparently, that person had juice in their hands because now the front of Sam’s suit is soaked and sticky and this really isn’t. fucking. helping. In fact, it makes it a hell of a lot worse because the drink was ice cold and Sam feels the sharp cool of it on his skin, making him come to terms with the situation.

This isn’t a dream. Because of course it isn’t.

“Oh, sir, I am so sorry! Here,” mumbles the chaperon who Sam quickly recognizes to be his old math teacher whose name he can’t place.

Sam pushes the man’s hands away and mumbles an “It’s fine” under his breath before continuing to head straight for the gym doors. On his way there, he pushes through the crowd of his old (young?) dancing classmates, each press into someone’s puffy dress and each scrape against someone’s hand making this Not-Dream even more overwhelming.

Sam is only out of the gym and into the hallway for two seconds before a frazzled, equally embarrassingly dressed Bucky Barnes runs straight into him. Because of course he does.

“Sam, what the hell is going on?” is all Bucky asks, his voice more annoyed than panicked.

“I have no fucking idea,” Sam answers.

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles and he squints out of frustration and Sam’s sure he would laugh at his pouting if he wasn’t freaking out right now.

“I woke up in a fucking janitors closet,” Bucky practically yells into the hallway. “With no idea where you or anybody else was. Eventually, a bunch of little kids opened the door and told me to get out, so they could use it to make out...And my hair is gone!”

Bucky is dressed in a suit much like Sam’s but his is all white. The most surprising thing about Bucky being here besides his actual presence is that his hair is in fact much shorter now as it no longer reaches his shoulders. Instead, it is gathered into a swoop in the middle, the longest ends barely only reaching the end of his neck. Sam looks Bucky up and down and makes an approving noise. Another thing Sam would do if he wasn’t freaking out right now is tell Bucky he looked good. Really good.

He still looks ridiculous in that suit though.

Apparently, Sam manages to crack a smile at Bucky’s new look and Bucky takes notice because Sam can see his eyes already rolling.

"The hair isn't that bad. The suit though..."

“Say what you want. You’re just mad I can pull this off and you can’t, Wilson,” Bucky says, the urgency in his voice swapped out for a more playful tone.

“Sure. That’s why I’m mad right now.”

Buffy huffs, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. Sam finds that even more attractive, but he’d die before he admits that.

“I stared at my younger self for 10 minutes straight before I realized I wasn’t dreaming on the beach anymore,” Sam continues, bringing the focus back on what really matters.

Bucky’s mouth fall opens. His face goes from playful to utterly confused.

“You saw…yourself?”

Sam nods before motioning to the gym doors where the dance is still going on. He can faintly hear the words _You know_ _I’m bad, I’m bad, come on!_ thrumming through the walls.

“Yes, I did. My whole entire self, not excluding my horrible fashion, my teen angst, and my struggling dance moves. I saw the whole god damn thing, Barnes.”

Bucky shakes his head as if he can’t believe it.

“So, we’ve traveled to the past, specifically yours... Is this something to do with one of the stones? Some bullshit Thanos is pulling?”

Sam thinks he hears some fear creeping into Bucky’s voice. The man out of time is unsettled by time travel. Makes sense. But Sam doesn’t know if that’s it.

“I don’t see why he would. His plan was to get rid of half of the population, not conduct weird psychological experiments in which he forces me to watch myself painfully flirt with my high school crush and try to do the running man,” Sam says in one breath. He crosses his arms and leans back against a locker. “Unless the asshole got bored or something, I have no explanation.”

“Let me see.”

“You want to see me do the running man? Okay, Barnes, but I’m a little rusty-”

“No. Let me see tiny Sam. It’s not like we got a clue what else to do.”

“I’m not letting you get near tiny Sam.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m gonna hurt him.”

“I know you won’t. But him seeing the future Falcon and Winter Soldier at his Junior Prom might fuck up something. Aren’t there morals and timelines to this shit?”

“Yeah, like in that one movie with the Marty guy.”

“…You’ve seen Back to the Future?”

“Yes. It’s Shuri’s favorite movie.”

Sam rolls his eyes and tries to ignore how adorable it is that he knows that.

Bucky crosses the hall and lays on the string of lockers with Sam, his front now fully facing him. Bucky lowers his voice to a whisper.

“What if this is some type of test? Like there’s some lesson here you need to learn from your past self and you gotta confront yourself.”

Sam considers Bucky for a moment before laughing out loud.

“You’re just saying that because you wanna see my goofy looking teenage ass.”  
Bucky grins widely with no shame whatsoever.

“Yeah, I really do. I’m sure he’s a sweetheart. Does he have braces by any chance?”

Sam groans.

“Come on, let’s go stare at me.”

He nudges Bucky with his shoulder before walking back into the gym.

Another slow song is bumping through the speakers and the grinding is in full force. Sam (adult) looks towards the bleachers but Sammy (tiny) is nowhere to be found. Sam tries to think of where he would’ve run off to until he remembers.

He ran off with Bobby.

(That _was_ tonight, wasn’t it?)

Sam nods for Bucky to follow him before heading out the doors once again. He immediately turns left to take the stairs.

Sam can still hear Johnny Gill asking if he _can stand the rain_ behind him as he sprints up towards the roof.

**

Sam and Bucky are standing behind the door to the roof, looking through the window at Sammy and Bobby sitting shoulder to shoulder, legs hanging off the edge of the building. The moon lights up the Harlem rooftops as Whitney’s voice makes it’s way up to them from the gym.

 _Touching you, I feel it all again_ , she croons.

Right now, they can’t physically see it, but Sam knows that Bobby’s hand is holding Sam’s.

Sam doesn’t need to time travel to remember this moment. He knows this scene like the back of his hand because he spent so many days going over it in his head after it happened. All the butterflies, the joy, the immense fear of someone just being able to see the moment written on his face. Sam remembers all of it.

 _You never forget a first kiss,_ Sam reasons. But it was so much more than that. Bobby was his first everything. Bobby himself was unforgettable and that’s why Sam fell so hard for him all those years ago.

“Get a move on, Sammy,” Bucky utters, his face so close to the window glass that it fogs up near his lips. “You’re both alone. The mood is set. What’s stopping you?” He’s acting as if he’s given Sammy an earpiece and he can coach him through this. Sam’s heard plenty of stories from Steve about how smooth Bucky used to be for the both of them, so Sam’s sure coaching an awkward Steve Rogers wouldn’t be all that different.

“Shut up, I was nervous,” Sam responds curtly under his breath. Bucky only turns his head slightly to fix Sam with a look that says ‘Chill out’ before turning his attention back to the roof.

Sam doesn’t know why he’s so defensive of his younger self, but he is. If Sam could compare it to anything, he’d say it’s almost like standing up for a little brother. Almost.

A voice that Sam strangely recognizes as his own starts talking.

“Bobby, you ever think everything’s just too much?”

Damn. Maybe Sam _doesn’t_ remember everything from this moment because he sure as hell doesn’t remember asking such a heavy question so out of the blue.

Sam turns to look at Bucky, expecting him to make fun of him again but Bucky doesn’t say a word. Bucky’s eyes have instead softened, and he remains fully focused on Little Sammy and Bobby as if watching two closeted teenage boys make awkward moves on each other is something worthwhile to him.

“You mean all that wack dancing in there? Yes, that is exactly what I would describe as too much, thank you very much, sir.”

Little Sam audibly sighs and is probably rolling his eyes right now, trying to hide his gap-toothed smile, along with many other feelings.

“No, dummy. In like...a feeling way. Like you’re always tired. Always worried about what’s going to happen next. You don’t ever feel like that?”

Bobby pauses for a minute before answering.

“To be honest with you Sammy…I feel like that all the time.”

Sam can see himself nod slowly, up and down, soaking up every word Bobby is saying. Sam used to be so enamored with Bobby. The way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he lived like he hadn’t a care in the world when Sam knew he was just as scared as he was.

“All you gotta do is call me, Bobby. If you need me, I’ll be there to talk.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

And just like that, Sammy and Bobby get closer and closer till their lips meet in a light kiss. It warms Sam to his core, how innocent and sweet it was.

The two haven’t even pulled apart before Bucky turns and looks at Sam, biting his lip.

Sam raises his eyebrow, ready for Bucky’s long-awaited quip.

“What happened to Bobby?” he asks, so quietly as if he’s afraid of the answer. As if he knew Sam was afraid he would ask.

Sam swallows before he answers.  
“He died.”

He sees Bucky’s face fall and that only makes Sam feel worse.

“What happened?”

“Got shot when we were 18. Wrong place. Wrong time. The bullet hit him in his chest and that was that.”

Sam tries to avoid Bucky’s eyes as they pierce into him. He doesn’t know what Bucky’s looking for. All he knows is that the warmth of the reliving his first kiss has broken and Sam just feels hollow. He presses closer to Bucky to look into the window, hoping to drop the topic.

Sammy and Bobby have pulled apart now and are talking a bit more quietly, sitting a bit closer.

“So…you gonna call me, huh?” Bobby asks, the cockiness in his voice unmistakable and so _Bobby_.

Sammy shoves him.

“Man, shut up,” he says before he pulls him right back in for another kiss.

 _Didn’t we almost have it all,_ Whitney sings one last time before the song ends and suddenly Sam’s chest is impossibly tight and he needs to go.

“We should get a move on,” Sam says, not even bothering to face Bucky before turning around and heading down the stairs.

Bucky follows close behind him but before Sam can fully turn into the hallway, Bucky pulls him back gently by his shoulder. Bucky’s hand is burning into his skin, his touch too warm compared to how cold Sam feels.

“And where exactly are we gonna move, Wilson? Before we do anything, we need a plan.”

Sam sighs.

“Okay. Let’s go find a place to think.”

Sam moves to keep walking to find an empty classroom. When he finally does, Bucky once again steps in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About Bobby.”

Sam can feel the genuine sympathy in his simple words. He guesses that it makes sense. Bucky’s lost plenty. He especially knows what it’s like to lose a best friend. Bucky’s probably had enough loss to last him a dozen lifetimes.

Sam nods, hoping he conveys all the meaning he can into the small gesture.

“You were a sweet kid, Wilson.”

“I know you’re making fun of me, but I’ll ignore that for now, in light of the moment we were having.”

“Who says I’m making fun?”

Bucky smiles at him and his eyes do that thing where they crinkle up and Sam tries once again to not travel down the road of finding the smallest things about Bucky cute.

Instead, Sam rolls his eyes as he puts his hand on the doorknob. Then everything goes white.

\--

_Everyone had always called Sam “Lil’ Preacher” for the longest. He forgets exactly when they stopped. He just knows it was sometime after his father died._

_“Come to church, please, Sammy,” his mom begs. “It’ll help.”_

_Your father would be so disappointed, is what she means._

_And Sam knows this. He knows this more than anyone. But he can’t seem to go back there when it feels so wrong to worship a God who took his father from him. The most God-loving man (not fearing, because if Dad was anything it was not scared. No, he loved more than anything) there was, preaching the good word himself, can’t even live to see his oldest son graduate. What bullshit was that?_

_This wasn’t the only reason Sam had strayed away from the church though. He began to feel even more doubt fill him every time he sat next to those glass-stained windows once the feelings started._

_That’s what he called them at least. Because he had no other way of describing them. Feelings was the only term that encompassed it._

_It starts in middle school. Sam spends way too much time watching MTV searching for Bobby Brown in the New Edition music videos. He also stares much too long at the real Bobby in class._

_It’s when he’s going over how Bobby’s hand skimmed his as he passed him a pencil for the hundredth time that he really accepts it. He’s gay. He’s gay and black and poor and he’s scared because that combo is deadly. Now the world has even more reason to hate him._

_Sam can’t meet his mother’s eyes anymore. He knows she could never hate him. He’s confident that her “everlasting love” is real. He's sure of that much._

_But he can never bring himself to just tell her. She could never hate him, but she might be disappointed and Sam can’t handle that._

_Sarah and Gideon have never said a word if they’ve ever suspected anything and he’s grateful. Well, partly grateful, partly begging for them to figure it out so all this tiptoeing could stop._

_\--_

_“Bobby? What are you doing here?”_

_“Mom was dropping some stuff off for the food drive. What about you? I rarely catch you in here on a Sunday, so I’m really scratchin’ my head as to why your lame ass is here on a Friday.”_

_Sam laughs, probably too hard. He can’t help it._

_“I don’t know, I just. Needed to see.”_

_“See what?”_

_“See if it felt the same. The same as before.”  
Bobby nods in understanding. In a move that has Sam’s heart beating out of his chest, Bobby grabs Sam’s hand._

_“Lemme show you something.”_

_Sam follows Bobby, trying to calm himself down. His palms are already sweaty enough. It only takes a few seconds before Sam realizes they’re headed to the roof._

_Once they reach it, Bobby lets go of Sam’s hand and he’s relieved but also missing the warmth of Bobby’s touch._

_Bobby walks to the edge of the brick building and holds his arms out._

_“Here we are. The best view in Harlem, baby!” he yells out to the city tops._

_Sam smiles at his boldness. He surveys the city before them and tries to breathe in the fresh air._

_“So?” Bobby asks into the silence._

_“So…what?”_

_“Did it work?”_

_“Did what work?”_

_“The view, dummy. Did it help you get some perspective?”_

_Sam doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how to when Bobby is so close to him, he can make out every dip and curve of his face, from those annoying dimples to his rich brown eyes._

_“When I need some space to stop looking at things so up close, I come here. You’re welcome to as well if you need.” Bobby shrugs as if letting Sam in like this is no big deal to him. That might be true, but it means something to Sam._

_“Thank you, Bobby. Really.”_

_Bobby simply nods and begins to stare at Sam like there’s something on his face._

_“You know Sam, I wouldn’t mind seeing you more often. Outside of school, in church, wherever. You just never come out of that darn room of yours.”_

_“I don’t get out much.”_

_“Oh, I didn’t notice.”_

_Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s not sure if he’s more annoyed with himself for his useless response or at Bobby for teasing him._

_“I’ll give you my number.”_ _Sam reaches to get some paper out of his pocket._

_“Okay,” Bobby says with the sweetest smile on his face and Sam feels like he’s flying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam, that's pretty gay.  
> Also, I'm Sorry. I wasn't expecting to make the story go that direction either but...here we are. Next chapter up...soonish. More Sam flashbacks to come.  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky, stop touching Sam, we get it, you like him.   
> Also, I love that Sam's middle name is Thomas, so at every opportunity, I will use it.   
> Next chapter should be up soon- get ready for some Sam Wilson flashbacks (the fact that his father was a preacher just really butters my toast bc this makes Sam the perfect walking metaphor for this afterlife au). 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! If anything I write is inaccurate or stupid, please lmk.


End file.
